Perfection
by Voicemail
Summary: Roger and Mark finally realize there's something between them, something perfect. Just a oneshot. Rating for graphics. Reviews are ahdored!


"How was work?"

Roger Davis shot his roommate a nasty glare, throwing his guitar case down on the floor. Running a hand through his dirty blonde hair, he said, "How is work usually? Tiring and uncreative."

"What, working for a children's show isn't working out for you anymore?" Mark Cohen asked, looking up from his camera, a sly smile on his face. He knew damn well that Roger was not fond of his job, but he took an enormous about of joy in teasing the man about it. Something about picturing Roger sitting on a stool with a green frog puppet on his shoulder just didn't seem right. "What was today's segment about?"

"Singing the ABCs," Roger said, with a look that proved he thought it was all kinds of evil. "With twelve different rhythms." He sighed. "Like five-year-olds really know the difference between half notes and eighth notes."

"They might, you never know," Mark said. "Didn't they say Beethoven composed his first symphony at five?"

Roger rolled his eyes. "Like I give a shit what some Romance Era composer did when they were a toddler." He arched his eyebrows. "What did you do today, Mr. I-Like-To-Tease-My-Best-Friend-About-His-Job?"

Mark laughed. "I'm not so sure that the name fits," he said, smiling. "But I did nothing. I sat on that couch - " He pointed to where Roger sat " - And waited for some pigeons to come and sit on our fire escape so I could film them."

"You filmed pigeons all day," Roger said flatly.

"I tried," Mark retorted. He flopped down on the couch next to his roommate. "They never showed up."

"Gee, I'm awfully sorry," Roger joked. In a more serious tone, he said, "Anything I can do to help you forget about your day?"

Mark turned. For a moment, a thought bleeped through his mind, though he knew Roger would never agree to it. It was fantasy land. With a shrug, he said jokingly, "Maybe you could help me create a new name. You know, one pigeons would be attracted to."

"What's wrong with Mark Cohen?" Roger asked, a bit confused.

"It doesn't roll of the tongue... so obviously a pigeon wouldn't like it. All they do is coo. You can't coo 'Mark Cohen'. You can coo 'Pookie.'" He smiled as he used Maureen's nickname.

"I like Mark," Roger said, his voice deeper, and much more meaningful than intended. His eyes scanned Mark's pale face, taking in the features. Was it just him, or did he notice Mark's soft blue eyes lock with his own for a split second? "It's good for a lot of things, if not cooing."

"Like what?"

"Like saying a bunch of times over and over." Roger smiled playfully as he said, "Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark." Taking in a deep breath, he said, locking eyes with the blonde haired man once more, "_Mark_."

Mark took in a breath. That last time was different than all the others. It was lower, meaningful, and there was no cockiness in it whatsoever. He scanned Roger's face, and as he did, he could've sworn he saw it coming towards him. He wanted to blink to stop the illusion, but didn't want to break their eye contact. Soon enough, he felt Roger's hand on his cheek.

A tingle shot up Roger's hand as he touched Mark. Sure, they had touched before, mostly in a brotherly way, like a hug or somthing. Never like this. It had never been this... intamite. He watched as Mark's own hand slid around the rocker's neck, touching the back of his long hair ever-so-slightly, pulling him towards him. Within seconds, he heard Mark take a breath, and then felt as their lips touched, ever so slightly. As they pulled away, Roger said, his voice husky, "Mark." It came out as more of a groan than anything.

That was it. Mark had had enough. Now was as good a time as ever. He pulled Roger towards him again, pressing his lips against his, this time harder, and much more passionate. He felt Roger's hand grasp his cheek, as his other hand came up and cradled his face.

Roger opened his mouth, letting Mark's soft, warm, wet tongue slide in. He tousled the filmmaker's hair in a way he had never done before, sliding his fingers through it, pushing it up and down, up and down. He felt Mark move beneath him and pushed him down, pinning his hands on top of his head, kissing him deeper than ever before.

"The bed..." Mark whispered. "The bed," he groaned. Before long, Roger and Mark pushed their way, tongues in throats, arms around each other, to the bed. Roger felt himself go hard as Mark pinned him down. Without thinking, he pushed Mark up, and slid his hands along the side of his roommate's pants, hooking his thumbs in them, while lifting his head, and undoing the zipper with his teeth. Expertley, he pushed Mark's pants and boxers down, revealing a very hard penis. He slid his hands up Mark's shirt, pulling it over his head, while Mark ripped open the buttons on Roger's, exposing his rock-hard abs to the world... or at least the bedroom.

Before long, they were both a mess of clothes and sheets, up against each other, naked. Mark slid down Roger's stomach, teasing him along the way, before wrapping his warm mouth around Roger's thick cock, teasing it with his tongue. Roger groaned throatily as Mark sucked on his shaft, then slowly engulfing his entire dick in his mouth, sucking and licking as if it were an ice cream cone.

Roger pulled Mark up, putting a long, hard kiss on his lips, as their balls slapped against each other. The bed creaked and the headboard shook. Then, without warning, Roger's body stiffened, and he cummed. Mark immediatly flew down to his dick, lapping up all of it, every last drop, before kissing Roger again, massaging his cock. It wasn't long before Mark cummed as well.

For a while, they lay there in each other's naked embrace. Finally, Roger kissed Mark's forehead. "Goodnight, you," he said. "Tomorrow's a brand new day."

"It is," Mark groaned. He lay against Roger's chest. "You know what this was, Rog?"

"What?" Roger asked softly.

"Perfection."


End file.
